


After prove me right.

by Mystrothedefender



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Joker is already dead, M/M, Unfinished, this is the sequel to prove me right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 10:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12629436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystrothedefender/pseuds/Mystrothedefender
Summary: This is a short series set after prove me right but it's unfinished.





	1. Chapter 1

-In the year since Joker’s death Bruce had tried to return to normal.

He’d tried, that was all he could say.-

.

He didn’t leave his room for the first month, he simply lay there, staring at the spot where Joker had slept. He’d refused to eat for the most part, though Alfred brought him food anyway, thanking god whenever he found that Bruce had taken as much as a bite from the previous meal.

Dick did his best to assist him, but even his usually cheery mood was taking hits; seeing this once great man letting himself waste away like that…

.

“Bruce. Please. You’ve got to eat.” Dick pled to his mentor.

“I’m not hungry.” Bruce grumbled, flicking his head up to look at Dick, the first time he’d done so since the young man had entered the room.

Bruce had been crying again, Dick could tell; his eyes were puffy and red. He’d not slept and the resulting dark circles now stained his perfect skin.

“I don’t care, your body needs food,” Dick tried not to snap at the older man, it’d just make him not want to talk.

“I don’t need anything.” Bruce mumbled, his eyes dropping again.

Dick sighed, he knew there was no point in pushing it, he placed the plate of tuna sandwiches on the bedside table, tying not to disturb the pictures that resided there.

He decided to return to the topic he had originally meant to talk about. “…I have some news, Bruce.”

“Oh?” Bruce mumbled half-heartedly as he placed his head back on the pillow, laying and gazing at the space in the bed next to him, running his fingers over the indents in the surface.

Joker had laid there, and told him he’d loved him. And Bruce hadn’t said it in return… He’d refused it.

He should have said it.

Three words, only three. Why had it been so hard?

“Yeah… Um… Wally has asked me to move in with him.”

Bruce’s eye’s jerked to Dick’s face, “What?”

“I said yes. But I want you to be ok with it. I don’t want to leave you while you’re like this.” Dick said, trying to keep his tone soft, to not display the excitement that filled him at the thought of moving in with his flame-haired boyfriend.

Bruce furrowed his brow, “You’ll be leaving Wayne manor?”

He didn’t seem to understand what Dick had said.

Dick nodded, saying ‘yes’ quietly.

“And moving in with Wally?”

“Yes.” Dick said again, a small smile dancing on his lips.

Bruce nodded, forcing a smile on his face, “Good. You deserve to be happy, be with the man you love.”

Dick felt a slight blush appear on his face, “Yeah… I want you to be ok with it though. I won’t be leaving until you’re feeling better.”

“I feel fine, Dick.” Bruce mumbled in a tone, which was meant to be a stubborn one, but instead only invoked pity.

Dick gave out a huffed chuckled, shaking his head, “You’re not. You can’t even bring yourself to eat a god-damn tuna sandwich.”

“Fine!” Bruce suddenly shouted, raising himself from the bed, “I’ll eat the fucking sandwich!” He walked round the bed and pulled the plate from its wooden seat. He picked up the sandwich and shoved it into his mouth, trying to ignore the nausea in his stomach.

Dick watched the older man eat, biting his lip so he wouldn’t tell him to stop. Tears had begun appearing in Bruce’s eyes, he didn’t want to eat, especially not this.

It was his favourite. Joker had known, somehow.

Bruce swallowed the last of his food and slid onto the floor, hands to his head. Tears again falling down his face.

“Thank you,” Dick said gently, his mood sufficiently darkened.

Bruce growled loudly and threw the plate across the room, smashing it against the wall. “Shut up Dick. Don’t you ever bring me that again. I hate tuna.”

Dick furrowed his brow, “But it’s your favourite, it always has been.”

“People change, Dick. If I say I don’t want tuna anymore then don’t get me tuna anymore.”

Dick held out a hand to Bruce, putting it gently on the other man’s shoulder. “Ok Bruce, what would you like instead?”

Bruce lifted his head, “I don’t want anything, Dick. I told you.”

He fell into violent sobs, lowering his head again, “I don’t…”

Dick lowered himself to Bruce’s side, pulling him into a protested hug. Dick squeezed him gently, listening to his sobs. “You miss him don’t you…?”

“O-Of course I f-fucking miss him. H-How would you f-feel…”Bruce mumbled through his sobs.

Dick closed his eyes and pulled Bruce closer, “…I know… I know…”

“The only m-man I love and h-he’s…” Bruce couldn’t bring himself to say the last word.

Dick felt himself begin to choke up, he hated seeing Bruce in this state.

“It’ll be ok Bruce… You just need some time…”

Bruce nodded into Dick’s chest, “I know…” he shuddered with his breath.

Dick sat with Bruce for a while, waiting for the older man to calm down.


	2. Chapter 2

Part way through the second month Alfred found himself relieved to hear Bruce shout his name, the noise not coming from Bruce’s room, but instead from the small living-room on the lower floor.

He began venturing out, at first it was to find things to read, or watch, to prevent boredom.

Alfred was thankful just for that.

.

“Sir, nice to see that you’re out of your room. We were beginning to think you’d never come out.” Alfred said cheerily as he located Bruce, sitting on the small green sofa, staring blankly at the bookcase, with one book held limply in his hand.

Bruce nodded, “I need something else to read. Why don’t we have any good books?”

Alfred smiled, walking to stand beside Bruce, “That depends on what you define as good, sir. I for example find ‘The unicorn’ rather enthralling.”

Bruce looked down at the book in his hand, “I agree, I’ve just read it.”

Alfred nodded, giving a slight ‘ah’ of understanding. “…Will one be showering today, sir?”

Bruce shook his head, “No, one will not.”

… He didn’t feel he deserved it; He felt awful, so why should he look anything other than that. ‘Awful’…

Alfred sighed, letting his strict frame lax slightly, “We’re all rather worried for you sir. You have several messages from each member of the Justice League asking for you.”

“I don’t want to talk to them.” Bruce replied immediately, tearing his eyes from the books and bringing them to Alfred.

Alfred nodded, outstretching a hand to pat Bruce on the shoulder, “I understand sir, I just felt you should know that there are people who still care for you, and are missing your presence.”

Bruce frowned, ‘who still care for you’ as if Joker had stopped caring now he was dead… “I’m going to go back to bed,” he said, his head lulling back down as he did.

“Sir, please,” Alfred said quietly, “I do not feel that would be the best thing for you.”

Bruce’s head snapped back up, “What the fuck would you know Alfred? Don’t pretend you know what I’m going through.”

“Sir!” Alfred said harshly, removing his hand from Bruce’s shoulder, “I have lived almost twice the years you have, you cannot be suggesting that someone I love has not died in that time.”

Bruce’s frown softened, he would admit that that was a little harsh of him to say.

“Joker and I were in each other’s lives for 20 years,  _that_  is half of my life… How could he leave like that…” Bruce’s anger flittered into sadness, and sorrow ebbed in his chest again.

Alfred sighed, “I’m sure he didn’t want to leave you… sir…”

“He killed himself. He wanted to die,” Bruce growled weakly.

Alfred shook his head, “No sir, he didn’t, he simply wanted to be able to control the circumstances of his death… Under the same conditions, I would wish the same.”

Bruce frowned, “S-so you would blow yourself up, and kill 30 others in the process, rather than die of an aneurism?”

Alfred again shook his head, “No, sir, not at all, but given the opportunity I would rather die by choice than by force.”

Bruce grunted listlessly, his gaze falling to his own uncovered feet, his toes twitching gently in anxiety.

Alfred gave a small smile to the younger man, “I do know what you’re going through, sir. You will be ok.”

Bruce’s head jerked with a small nod. That had to be the 10th time he’d heard that this week. ‘You’ll be ok’.

He wouldn’t be.

He couldn’t.

Not with this gaping hole in his chest.

“People keep telling me that. Why do I not believe them.”


	3. Chapter 3

At three months both Alfred and Dick were beginning to grow concerned by Bruce’s immobility. He’d spend almost three weeks in physiotherapy before returning home, and was supposed to be continuing basic exercise routines to help keep his leg and shoulder in check, and he hadn’t been doing them.

Tim had tried to get him to go down to the Batcave to use some of the exercise equipment down there, but Bruce had flat out refused, and the two had ended up having yet another argument.

Alfred had come to the decision it would be best to bring in some help, someone Bruce could talk to.

.

“He’s in the sitting room, Master Wayne.” Alfred smiled, leading Bruce gently towards the said room.

Bruce was frowning harshly, “I don’t see why you called him here, I don’t want to talk to him, I don’t want to talk to anyone…”

Alfred stopped at the door, turning to look at his charge. Dishevelled would be the best way to describe him; stubble covering the lower half of his face, his hair ruffled and greasy, wearing baggy grey trousers that were dirty and a black t-shirt peppered with holes and stains.

“You may not want to sir, but you need to.”

He opened the door and saw, sitting on the beige sofa, the soft smile and blonde hair of Doctor Mahogany.

“Doctor Mahogany,” Bruce said to the young man with a gentle nod of hello.

“Bruce,” The doctor nodded back, seeming a little too informal with his words.

Bruce swallowed gently, “I was told you-“

“Don’t bother with all that, Bruce,” the younger man said with a gentle wave of his hand, “I know who you are. If a teenager can figure it out so can I…”

Bruce’s frown softened, the words catching him a little off guard, “Tim is one of the only people to work out who I am, he is a genius.”

The doctor shook his head as Bruce approached his black armchair, “And I had degrees in psychology, chemistry and internal medicine by the age of 22, I am too a genius, sir.”

Bruce gave a slight huff as he sat down, still reluctant to talk to the young man. “…How is Dr. Sing?” he asked, trying to make small talk.

Mahogany’s smile dropped, “I… He didn’t make it, he died in surgery.”

Bruce frowned, “Oh… I’m sorry.”

Mahogany waved his hand again, “Don’t be, I hated that man.”

“That doesn’t mean he deserved to die.” Bruce mumbled sadly, there was too much death in his life at the moment.

The doctor shook his head, trying to stop himself from smiling as he felt Bruce’s tone; he was beginning to open up. “No one deserves to die, sir, but… it happens, people die, you know that better than anyone.”

Bruce nodded, “Yeah, I do know. First my fucking parents, my son, two of my girlfriends, and now…”

Bruce could feel tears jumping in the back of his eyes, he was so tired of crying, but there was nothing else he could do. Nothing helped. Nothing could stop this pain.

Mahogany sat and waited for Bruce to finish his sentence.

“…Now Joker’s dead…” Bruce finally said, once his eyes had stopped threatening him with tears.

The doctor nodded, “I know. He didn’t deserve to die.”

“Didn’t he?” Bruce asked in a mumble.

“No.”

Bruce’s gaze fell to the floor, “The world’s better off without him. I shouldn’t feel like this…”

Mahogany leant forward on his chair, his elbows lazing on his knees, “You always wanted him to get better. You always wanted to fix him.”

Bruce felt the tears coming back into his eyes, he nodded gently.

“You’re now realising that that can never happen.”

Bruce lifted a hand to his eyes, barricading the tears with his finger, “…What did you talk to him about?” he asked, suddenly remembering something the doctor had said about his theories about Joker.

Mahogany smiled gently, “Um, we used to talk about you and him. He kept telling me about the first time he met you.”

Bruce’s mouth spread into a sad smile, of course he did…

“…He loved you.” Mahogany said gingerly.

Bruce nodded, now unable to stop the tears running down his face, “I-I know… I wish I-I’d said it back.”

The doctor nodded, and paused for a second, “He has a grave, you know…”

Bruce blinked, trying to waive his tears. “I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“People will see me.”

Doctor Mahogany shrugged, “So? What does that matter? Surely people seeing you there is better than feeling like this.”

Bruce frowned, “What would I even do there? I’m supposed to stand by a fucking headstone and tell him… that…”

With that the older man broke. Tears and sobs exploding from him.

Doctor Mahogany rushed to his side, holding a hand to Bruce’s shoulder.

“You feel this pain Bruce?” he asked gently, “This? It’s good, you’ve got to let yourself feel this. You need to tell him how you feel.”

Bruce continued to sob, turning his head in a poor attempt to hide his teary reddened faced.

“Do you see now Bruce? You need to do this.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce started his physical therapy again, just the basic exercises, as little as he could get away with, just until he was well enough, by Alfred’s standards, to venture from the house on his own.

By midway through the fourth month he was able to walk normally again, and found himself out in the street, walking to Joker’s grave, as Doctor Mahogany had suggested.

.

His eyes were affixed to the floor, he didn’t want to see the outside world, he wanted to see Joker’s grave, and then go back home.

Joker was not buried in Arkham’s graveyard, the warden had feared that having the grave of the greatest criminal Gotham had ever known on their premises would bring too much attention to the area, and might bring in unwanted visitors.

Joker’s body had its own small plot in a government owned graveyard. The place where they buried the homeless, the unwanted and the unknown.

Joker did not belong there.

Bruce swallowed hard as he walked across the yellowing grass, exhaling as he lifted his eyes.

Nausea quickly rose in him when he saw Joker’s headstone.

The originally grey stone had been spray painted green, blackened dying roses surrounding the base of the small plinth.

The word carved on the grave was highlighted in purple, it simply said ‘Joker’.

It wasn’t graffiti, it was like someone had painted Joker’s personality onto the stone.

Maybe Joker had told one of his men to do this for him.

To make his grave a dash of colour amongst the grey.

Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat and sat himself at the foot of the grave, simply staring at the purple word.

His eyes flicked down from the word, looking to the grass below the stone, “…I…”

The lump re-appeared in his throat, wanting him to cry.

“…I don’t know what to say…”

He smiled gently, “You’re usually the one to say the first word.”

His eyes turned back up, looking at Joker’s name, but seeing more than just that.

“You’d say something like… you’d say that I looked glum. Or something.”

He began tugging nervously at the grass by his feet, trying to resist his tears. “…Of course I look ‘glum’. I feel awful.”

He frowned, annoyed at his own awkwardness.

“…I miss you…” he said quietly, “I don’t understand it. There have been so many times where I’ve wanted you to… to not be there… But now, you’re actually gone and I just… I’m so sorry.”

A tear begin to track its way down his cheek, “I miss you so much, I dream of you… I can’t sleep anymore because you’re always there!”

He played with a blade of grass, twisting it around his finger, “My dreams have changed too… I used to dream of… of you touching me… I hated it.”

He shook his head, he was lying to himself even now… “I liked it… I wanted more than just…”

The sentence trailed off as Bruce realised he was getting off topic. “Now I just replay that scene in my head… seeing you with those tubes… I hated seeing you like that. It hurts me so much.”

Tears were now running fast down his cheeks, “I wish I could have killed you. I wish I could have spared you  _that._  I’m so sorry I couldn’t do it. I didn’t understand…”

A short sob choked in his throat, “I love you.”

He let himself fall into the void of darkness that filled his chest, letting tears of anguish fall from him, “I love you.”


	5. Chapter 5

Five months had passed and Bruce still felt an enormous weight on him. Talking to Joker’s grave had only made the pain worsen, seeing that he was actually gone, he wasn’t coming back, he’d never see him again.

At the beginning of the fifth month Tim came to Bruce, and the two talked.

The young man, with a little help from doctor Mahogany, had persuaded Bruce to come down to the batcave, as part of his recovery. So that he could use some of the equipment to help stretch his leg out.

.

Tim smiled as Bruce reached the last step of the stairs, “There you go, fine.”

Bruce looked around the cave, the mere sight making his stomach twitch anxiously.

He had to use all his self-control to keep his eyes away from the area dedicated to Joker, fearing that he would burst into tears at seeing it.

He began the short walk to the exercise area, suddenly he felt a harsh whoosh of air come past him, almost knocking him over.

Wally came to a halt a few feet away, his red and yellow uniform clean and bright on him, a new set, again.

“Hi Batman!” Wally said, looking the older man up and down, sensing his unease, he frowned gently, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you.”

Bruce forced a small smile onto his face, “No, it’s ok. What are you doing here?”

Wally shrugged, “I’m waiting for Dick, he said he was having a little bit of trouble since the Arkham breakout an-“

“Wait, what? What breakout?” Bruce said sternly, looking between Wally and Tim.

Tim brought his hand to his arm, rubbing it gently to calm himself, “Earlier this week. We didn’t want to put any pressure on you, we didn’t want you to rush yourself, so we didn’t tell you.”

Bruce frowned, anger leaping in him, “So you’ve been calling other heroes in? You’ve been inviting metas-” he pointed to Wally, “-into my city? You know how much they rile the inmates, that’s probably  _why_ there was a breakout!”

Tim frowned, looking to the floor as Bruce bellowed at him, “Bruce that’s… There’s a new gang. They broke everyone out of Arkham.”

Bruce walked towards the computer, “What gang, who’s in charge?”

“They’re calling themselves ‘The Jokers’.” Wally said bluntly, not realising the effect it may have on Bruce’s mood.

Bruce felt his stomach drop with a mixture of anger and sadness, “What…?” he growled gently, turning and glaring at Wally.

“I’m sorry, Bruce…” Tim whispered, “We didn’t want to upset you…”

“Joker imitators?” Bruce said quietly.

Wally nodded, “…Yeah. They dress up like him and imitate his crime pattern.”

Bruce frowned, “Joker didn’t have a crime pattern.”

Wally gave a small chuckle, “Exactly.”

Bruce’s eyes turned back to Tim, “Show me them.”

“Bruce I don’t think that’s-“

“Tim! Now.”

Tim walked briskly to the computer and pulled up a file, sensing Bruce’s tone; filled with anger and… violence…

The teen narrowed his eyes in a sad frown as Bruce looked up at the screen, the older man feeling his heartbeat appear in his throat as he read.

“This is disgusting…” Bruce said softly, voice aching, the corners of his mouth drooping.

Wally nodded, walking to Bruce’s side “They’ve killed 11 people now, injured 28.”

Bruce pulled up some footage and watched, his frown deepening every second:

Three men dressed as Joker, letting out loud and faked cackles of laughter, smashing the glass window of a local shop, one of the men pulled out a gun and shot the shop keeper in the arm, the old man screaming as blood exploded from the wound.

The three men emptied the till into a bag, grabbing some sweets from the counter as they ran from the place.

One of them stopped, placing a Dictaphone on the floor and pressing play, then running off.

The Dictaphone played a loop of Joker’s laughter.

The loud, booming, mocking laugh.

The laugh that would fill Bruce’s mind with a buzz of electricity that would echo through his body, making his hairs stand on end.

…But this time it didn’t…

A bastardised incomplete version of his voice.

Bruce felt tears come to his eyes, he tried not to let them show, but he couldn’t stop the tortured moan that came through his lips.

“Bruce,” Tim said gently, “Are you ok?”

“That’s not right…” Bruce said weakly, “I’ve got to stop them… it’s not right.”

Tim frowned, “Bruce, you’re in too much of a state. Alfred was ok with you coming down here to use the equipment, but you can’t go out yet.”

Bruce took several deep breaths, feeling the anger and sadness swell in him. He wanted to go, he wanted to stop them, he needed to stop them! He couldn’t let them do this to Joker’s image! He couldn’t let them defile the memory of the man he loved!

“I have to go!” Bruce said loudly, arbitrarily violent.

“Bruce,” Wally said warningly, “You know you will be no help out there… Think about it. You’re not anywhere near full strength and you can barely run. You need to recover.”

Bruce swallowed hard. He knew Wally was right.

He remembered one time, years ago, when he had tried to go back after breaking his back. 2 and a half years, and still he had been weak, Joker knew this, he could tell, and he had used it to his full advantage…

He couldn’t risk something like that again…

“Fine…”

____

Bruce had some of the weights moved upstairs, determined now to return to his physical peak. So he could stop those people using Joker's image as they were.

He had just finished an hour of exercise. He could feel his muscles aching. He had not felt that in so long…

It would be worth it, this wait, all this work.

He could stop these… this new gang. Free Joker's name from them.

He slammed his fist against the cushion on his bed; the name should not be associated with them.

They didn't know him.

They'd never even seen him.

They'd never heard his booming laugh, Never seen his emerald green eyes, never heard the silky sweet voice, felt the warm and gentle touch of his hand as it…

Bruce screwed his eyes shut. Stop it. It wasn't right to think about him like that.

When he had had the opportunity to, when Joker was alive, Bruce had done all he could to not think like that. Now he was dead, Bruce was doing all he could to stop himself thinking like that. But for different reasons all together.

It was so hard…

To have such urges, just not be able to show them in any way.

He wanted to be able to remember the feel of Joker's skin against his, the mal-formed lips touching his…

Bruce bit his lip, digging his canine into his flesh. Stop it. Stop it now.

But it had felt so good…

He could remember Joker's voice… he could imagine it now, and it felt so real.

He would tell him, if he were here, he would tell Bruce to 'loosen up', 'relax'…

The pinch on Bruce's lip loosened, and his hand moved down, across his chest.

'You're too serious about everything' Bruce could almost hear it as his hand reached his navel, and he took gentle grip on himself. 'You need to relax, Batsy…'

He let the voice fill his mind, the image of him, he had spent so long rejecting his want, he couldn't anymore.

It had felt so good, being with Joker… his ruby lips had been so soft, kissing down his chest, nibbling on his skin.

'Let me help…'

He let his mind orchestrate the words, though Joker had never said them, and they seemed so real.

He could still recall the man's white skin, so soft and warm, the feeling of it against him. 

He ran his hand up and down his length, pressuring his fingers gently against his shaft as he let his mind create the image of Joker's naked body leaning over him.

The gentle titters of excited laughter that had come from his lips as he moved down Bruce's body, Bruce could almost hear them now, he let out a tiny noise of imitation, trying to make it seem more real.

His hand began moving quicker as he thought of Joker's mouth moving on him, the clowns laughter quelled by the large object in his mouth, replaced with gentle moans and grunts.

If Joker were here.

Fuck… it would be perfect.

To be in him, just one last time, uninhibited, nothing held back, nothing to regret. The way he wished it could be, the way it should have been.

Joker's touch had had this odd way of making him forget how much he detested it, he had ended up enjoying it just as much, but he wished he had entered the situation with the same gusto. Maybe he wouldn't have this pit in his stomach now.

He pressured his fingers along himself, trying to make it feel more realistic, how he remembered it, trying to keeping the image in his head, keeping it vivid. 

"Joker…" he said in a breath as he continued to pump at himself, the images filling his head, the noises so loud, so real. His breath hitched as his movements grew more violent, tension steadily growing in him. 

He repeated the gentle grunts and chuckles in his mind, focusing on the imagined white skin… so perfect…

He wanted it to be real, he had never wanted anything more in his life. It felt so real, his mind making Joker move for him; the white skinned body arching and quivering at his intruding touch. The noises he made like music.

Fuck…

Joker's screamed laughs, so loud with pleasure.

'Fuck…'

Bruce's breath hitched as he tugged on himself, part of him wanted to stop; this was wrong, but he simply didn't care anymore, he'd waited too long to feel this, to be uninhibited.

He wanted it to be real.

Please.

Please.

Be real.

Let this one thing, this one wish…

The grunts, the moans, the soft and longing titters.

Oh fuck… yes…

Bruce felt his muscles spasm, and his white cream drip from him, he let out a gentle grunt. And suddenly the image was gone, and Bruce was left with nothing, only the soft ebbing of an empty orgasm.

He raised a hand to his forehead and pinched his brow.

Why couldn't it be real?

He wanted it so badly.

He felt so alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Throughout the sixth month Bruce made significant progress, he forced himself to. The threat of 'the Jokers' was becoming more severe, and Bruce knew he needed to stop it, knew that the mere sight of Batman would make them, or most of them, shit themselves, and the group would soon dissolve.

Cowards.

Bruce started watching the news again, cursing the criminal group whenever their name appeared. 

They had even started attacking other villains, one thing Joker would never do. He had been in 'healthy' competition with them, he didn't often go out of his way to hinder them like this group did.

They had even gone to the lengths of burning down one of their hideouts. They had been paid to do it, Bruce wasn't sure by whom, he would find out though, he would.

…

He held his grip on the bar above his head. One more, one more then he'd go upstairs for his dinner, then back down here an hour after.

He lifted his feet from the floor and pulled his chin to the bar, then dropped to the floor, panting, his muscles aching and burning.

It would be worth it. It would.

If he could just stop them, then he'd feel better.

He'd miss him less.

Bruce walked the short way to the stairs and made his way to the kitchen, taking care to not look towards the Joker's exhibit as he passed it.

It was getting less painful to come down to the batcave, but it still was too much for him to look at that shrine.

Dick had had the idea to take it down, Bruce had protested profusely, telling Dick that if he dared to then he would never be spoken to again.

He'd face it when he were ready, but it was too painful, he missed him too much, this was all too much.

Bruce entered the dining room with a sigh, and took his seat, waiting for the food that Alfred had said he would bring out.

He could hear him in the kitchen, it sounded as if Dick was in there too, talking about some banal thing.

"…It's the business with Harvey all over again…" Alfred's voice echoed quietly through the slightly open door.

"It wasn't this bad with Harvey," Dick replied.

"It still took a toll on him, they were very close,"

"Do you think he would have reacted like this if he'd died?"

There was no reply, Bruce could only assume Alfred had nodded.

He hated that they were talking about him behind his back.

"Alfred!" Bruce said loudly, "Is the food ready yet?"

Alfred took a second to reply, and when he did his voice faltered slightly, "Y-Yes, sir. Just one minute for the gravy to finish heating."

Bruce smirked slightly, finding it funny that he'd caught Alfred off guard like that. That was the sort of thing that would have Joker on the floor.

He'd praise Bruce for 'Finally getting a sense of humour'.

"…I've got to make up for yours…" Bruce mumbled to himself, the corner of his mouth twitching into a slight smile.

The smile dropped swiftly as Alfred entered the room, holding a plate of roast beef. "Are you feeling any better today, sir?"

Bruce shrugged, looking down at the food in front of him, he piled a small amount of food onto his fork, and swallowed it quickly.

"Has Dick said anything about the… 'the Jokers' threat?" he had to pause before saying their name, he couldn't bring himself to say it with out thinking of him.

The fact that they used his name made Bruce sick…

Alfred shook his head, "No, sir, he hasn't."

"Then what were you two talking about in there? It sounded important," Bruce queried, trying to lead Alfred into a trap.

He didn't fall for Bruce's trick, coming clean straight away, "We were talking about you, sir. Master Dick was inquiring about your condition, asking when I think you'll be able to resume your usual duties."

"So you told him…?"

"That I don't think you're quite ready yet."

Bruce sighed and shovelled the last of his food into his mouth. He swallowed and quickly got to his feet.

Alfred watched as he began to walk to the door, "Where are you going sir?"

Bruce didn't answer, didn't stomp or slam the door, just calmly walked out the kitchen and down the stairs to the Batcave.

He was, he was ready, he needed to be, he needed to stop them, he couldn't let them.

He exhaled deeply and lifted his eyes to the corner of the cave he hadn't looked at in over half a year.

The surge of emotion the filled him was incredible, sadness anger and… happiness, at once.

It all looked so gorgeous, the splashes of green and purple, the toys and tricks.

Bruce walked to the small plinth that held Joker's suit, and wrapped his arms around it, inhaling the smell, still strong despite time.

He pushed his face into the fabric, wetting it with tears, feeling it against his skin.

God he missed him…

Joker would hate seeing him like this…

Say 'buck up' or something.

'Stop being such a gloomy gus!'

Maybe a trick would cheer him up?

Let's see what uncle Joker has in his box of magic.

Bruce looked around the area, quickly finding one of many boxes marked ''magic''.

He knelt down beside it and dove into the box, pulling out a tiny wooden rectangle with two strings of different colours coming out either end. He pulled one end of the string and the other was pulled into the box, creating the illusion that the string had changed colour as it had been pulled through the wood.

He smiled as he pulled the string, he remembered taking this from Joker when he had used the string to garrotte someone. It still had some blood on it.

"Oh Joker…" he mumbled to himself as he put the block down, and turned back to the box of things.

There was so much in here, so many stories, so many memories.

Maybe he should write them down?

Write a book about Joker, publish it under a different name or something.

He picked out a little mirrored box, one which Joker had filled with a powdered version of his gas and placed on the centre plinth at a convention with the caption 'This is a funny box.'

He hadn't even been trying with that one, that was just to keep robin occupied while he fought Batman.

He had personally cleaned the box, so he didn't hesitate to open it. When he did, he began to laugh, gently, in disbelief, as a handful of tiny green and purple stars fell from the box, onto his lap.

When had these been put in? Bruce had cleaned this box and put it in here himself.

"..What did you do…?" he asked softly, chuckling to himself.

How had he done it?

Maybe…

He had left Joker alone to look at the boxes of his things for only a couple of minutes.

It was possible.

How had he known that…

Maybe he hadn't known, maybe he hadn't known that Bruce would open this box when he missed him most, maybe Joker had thought he'd open it in a years time, just as Bruce had got over his loss, and it would push him back into depression.

No.

This…

It seemed too perfect.

He lifted some of the paper-heart to his face, they smelled like him.

He continued chuckling to himself, "Oh… Joker."

'Just what doctor ordered…'

He sat there, covered in paper hearts, looking up at the Joker's suit.

He jolted suddenly as he heard the door at the top of the stairs squeak open.

"…Bruce?" Dick's voice echoed down to him, "What are you doing? Alfred said you were acting odd."

"…A museum…" Bruce murmured, still looking up at 

"What?"

"He said he wanted his things to be put in a museum."

Dick sighed, closing his eyes in annoyance, "Now… How would we go about doing that…?"

"Well… We have a minor museums about serial killers and… stuff, I could invest some money, and I know where Joker stores all his things, we could give them all his weapons and everything… I'll deactivate them first of course."

"Bruce…" Dick said dispiritedly, descending the stairs to Bruce's side.

"I think it's what he would have wanted," Bruce said stubbornly.

"It doesn't matter, Bruce, he's dead, it's been six months! Stop this! You need to get back to normal!"

Bruce quickly got to his feet, turning to face Dick, "There is no 'normal', Dick. He was my 'normal'. For 20 years, he was my 'normal', now he's gone."

Dick sighed, trying not to snap back, "…Bruce, come on…" he held out a hand to take Bruce by the hand.

Bruce looked down at the paper hearts he held in his hand and sighed.

"…I need to get back out there," Bruce said quietly. The Batman couldn't disappear simply because Joker had, and Batman needed, needed to stop those… those people.

…

"Ok, Bruce. Uh… try 32," Tim smiled, holding his hand out for Bruce to take.

"Don't talk to me like a child Tim, I'm perfectly capable."

"Then do it," the boy said with a chuckle.

Bruce grabbed Tim's hand before the boy had a chance to react, then flipped him over his shoulder and pinned him to the floor, belly down, still holding the boy's wrist in his hand. "Good enough?" Bruce said mockingly, a slight smirk appearing on his face as Tim squeaked in pain.

"Bruce, ah. Fuck," Tim whimpered.

Dick's eyes bulged slightly, "Bruce, let him go."

Bruce released Tim's arm, and the young man hopped to his feet, rubbing his shoulder, "That hurt," he said bluntly.

"It'll hurt more when a criminal does it…" Bruce murmured, turning his back to the two men, crossing his arms.

That was a move he used on Joker all too often, Joker would only laugh.

He couldn't wait to do it to some of his imitators, make them scream, beg for mercy. So Bruce could tell those bastards that Joker wouldn't have cried for his mother like they did, that he was twice the man they would ever be, that they should be happy to feel this pain, be happy they aren't dead.

That they should be dead, not him.

That Bruce would kill them all if it meant Joker could come back.

…Joker would laugh…

'Finally, succumbing to my way of thinking!'

"…Shut up…" Bruce said with a smile.

"Pardon?" Dick growled gently, "You could'a hurt him, Bruce."

"Yes," Bruce said with a shake of his head, "Yes, I'm sorry…" he straightened himself up, "I'm ready."

Dick nodded, "Physically, yeah… mentally however…"

Bruce scowled at Dick, taking himself to the case that held his costume, "Mentally I am fine, Dick… I'm happy to get back out there… I hate sitting around and doing nothing."

Tim nodded, rubbing his arm as he regained his composure, "Yeah… Dick, he's getting restless. Maybe going out will take his mind off it."

Dick gave a sigh of slight aspiration, he didn't feel comfortable letting Bruce out, but everyone except him seemed to think it was a good idea.

Well… At least he'd have the opportunity to say 'I told you so'.

"Fine. Uh, Bruce, we'll be off in about half an hour, is that enough time for you to get ready?"

Bruce nodded; he needed a shower, that would take him 10 minutes, and he could change into his Bat-suit in just over a minute. He'd probably be ready before the rest of them were.

.

He stood in the boiling hot shower, letting the scolding water rinse away his pain. He remembered all the times he had done this… using it almost as a punishment for himself. Using it to stop himself thinking of Joker.

He pinched his eyes closed, "Fuck…" he whispered, feeling self-hatred rise in him as he began to speak, speak to his own thoughts, "I need to focus…" his mind still tried to drift, "I need to not think of him, I can't have him in my head while I'm doing this."

He knew that Joker would call him mad for speaking to himself like this.

Joker would say that thoughts like that were good for him. Maybe if he remembered why he fought he'd be able to do it better.

He had said that. When Joker had talked of his memory.

Joker was right, he needed to remember why he was fighting.

Bruce sighed and smiled, "Joker… you mad thing."

'Always right!' That was the Joker, summed up in two words.

Suddenly laughter filled his head, filled the room.

Bruce laughed, tears streaming from his eyes as he did.

Always right.

"Fuck you, Joker," he said through his laughs.

'You already have…'

He laughed louder.

.

Bruce sighed, standing by the car, waiting for his 'colleagues' to join him.

He smirked at Dick as he approached, sheathing his weapons as he approached, "Yeah, yeah," Dick said, rolling his eyes, "I know…"

"Always late," Bruce said, trying not to let a smile slip onto his lips.

"Oi, we're still waiting for Tim," Dick said, walking to his bike.

"No we're not!" came a voice from inside of the car.

Dick chuckled gently, "Fine! You win!"

Bruce let out a hum, almost a chuckle, as he sat in the car.

"What?" Tim asked, smiling as the car took off.

"Just remembering the last time I was in this," Bruce said, still trying not to smile.

Tim nodded, looking out of the window, partially wondering if Kon would show up tonight, he said he'd try. "…That was with the Joker, right? Like 9 months ago?"

"That long?"

9 months? That would mean, if he had got Joker pregnant that night the kid would be born by now.

Bruce's face twitched into a smile, and he held back a chuckle, making a noise that sounded like a choked cough.

Tim frowned, moving his eyes to Bruce, he raised an eyebrow in confusion, "Are you ok?"

Bruce nodded, "I just… thought of something kind of funny."

"Joker-y funny or actual funny?"

Bruce shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road, the tiny smile still trying to etch itself onto his face. "Both."

.

There it was.

The statue head.

Where he had waited for Joker.

"Hi…" he said to no one, to Joker's memory, he ran his fingers along the ear of the gargoyle.

He hummed gently, moving his eyes to the skyline, "I'll find them, I'll save you from them, I swear I will."

Joker would moan that 'it wasn't his duty'.

"It is… I have to…"

At that Joker would have rolled his eyes, probably done something stupid, like dare him to jump from the roof.

Batman looked from the edge, and shook his head, "Damn clown…"

He set his eyes back to the skyline, smiling gently as he heard a faint buzz in his ear, the police radio.

A robbery, downtown.

"Looks like we'll both get our wish…" Bruce mumbled to himself, getting to his feet.

He took a deep breath and threw himself from the building, catching the wind perfectly and soaring towards the source of the disruption.

God he had missed it, the high it gave him, knowing he was about to do something.

It made him feel so brilliant.

If he'd said that out loud, Joker would have simply asked 'Better than me…?'

Bruce smiled as he stated his decent; as if that were possible.

He'd give up his life as Batman to have a life with Joker.

Not that that would, or could, ever happen.

He landed gently, noiselessly, and saw three of those Joker-imitators exiting the building.

He swallowed hard, hearing one of them laugh.

"How dare you…" he growled, anger suddenly leaping in him.

The laughing man gasped, dropping the box he was holding, "Shit! It's Batman!"

"What?!" one of the other men yelled in fear.

"…How dare you…" Batman repeated again, his voice low, growling, filled with unimaginable anger.

The man in front of him was shaking, visibly shaking, tears streaming down his face, "…Please, I-"

"You wear that? You call yourself Joker? And them you see me and cry?" Batman snarled.

The man whimpered, and Batman snapped.

He flew forward, punching the man in his face, harder than he thought possible, the man squealed, lifting a hand to his face as he fell to the floor, trying to stop the blood that was already leaking from it.

"How can you justify yourself!?" Batman shouted, turning his eyes to the other two, who stood frozen to the spot.

Batman quickly extended his hand, letting a batarang fly through the air, the two Joker-men fell to the floor, squealing in pain.

Batman laughed loudly, sending a kick into the man who lay closed to him, "You think that's painful? You have no idea what Joker had to deal with. The real Joker. You think you're like him?! You can fuck yourself!"

He sent several more kicks into the whimpering man's side.

He felt something wrap around him, and heard someone shout out "Batman!" the voice sounded terrified.

He stopped kicking out and the arm's around him pulled him back.

He turned to look at his attacker, ready to throw himself at him in anger.

"..Kon?" he stuttered, his heartbeat appearing in his throat.

"Batman… What happened?" Kon asked, his face contorting in confusion.

Batman looked at the bodies twitching on the floor, his stomach writing, filling with discomfort. "I… I don't know."


	7. Chapter 7

The seventh month started much like the first; Bruce in his room, refusing to move himself.

He couldn’t move.

It had been too much.

He had almost killed that man.

He fractured his skull.

The boy was 19, a first timer, a petty thief.

He could hear Joker’s laughter in his head, his chill voice shaking his bones, echoing unfocused words.

Telling him he hadn’t gone far enough.

It was becoming torture.

Dr Mahogany had tried talking to him, but he didn’t understand, he could never understand.

…He just didn’t know anymore.

…

Dick poked his head around Bruce’s bedroom door.

“Bruce?” he whispered, unsure of whether Bruce was awake or not.

“Yeah,” Bruce moaned, his voice gravelly, as if he’d not spoken in days.

Dick scrunched his eyes as he turned on the lights, holding his fingers to his brow as he thought of what to say, “I know you’re unwell… but I really need your help.”

Bruce lifted his head from his pillow, looking at Dick through the blinding light, “I’m not unwell, I’m thinking.”

Dick took a few steps forward and sat on the chair by Bruce’s bed, “Whatever. I need your help.”

“What with?” the old man growled.

“We have found out who’s in control of the Joker gang and-“

“Who is it?” Bruce asked loudly.

He could hear Joker’s laughter in his head, Joker would have guessed who it was months ago.

“Harley Quinn…”

Joker would have realised that straight away. Who else would it be?

“We received a message from her, demanding to talk to you.”

Bruce raised a hand to his eyes, rubbing them in an attempt to calm their gentle aching, “Why me…? I can’t do anything.”

Dick sighed slightly, that wasn’t the reaction he had expected. “She is insisting that you apologise to her in person for what happened to Joker.”

Bruce grumbled quietly, “Can’t she just leave him alone? Why would she do this to his memory?”

Dick’s eyes dropped to the floor, “I don’t think she… She thinks she’s honouring him.”

“She’s not, She’s destroying everything he stood for.”

Dick flinched slightly, swallowing hard, “Bruce…” Joker hadn’t stood for anything, he was a murdering maniac with no disenable pattern, he did what he did for no reason.

It was like Bruce had forgotten all the terrible things Joker had done, all the people he’d killed.

Bruce sat himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, “…I can’t let her do this to him…”

Dick got to his feet, “I just need you to go and see what she wants, you mustn’t over-exert yourself.”

The older man shot a glare in Dick’s direction, “Don’t tell me what to do, Dick, I’m Batman, I know what I’m doing.”

“Bruce you are not well,” Dick said, trying to keep a calm tone to his voice, “You need rest, I need you to do this, then I need you to  _ stop this _ and get better.”

“What do you mean ‘stop this’?” Bruce growled angrily, getting to his feet.

Dick sighed, he just wanted Bruce to be Bruce again. What he was turning into, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t him. “I’ve made another appointment with Dr Mahogany, he’s coming over tomorrow.”

“That’s the fifth time this month.”

“Yes Bruce, that’s because you are mentally ill! You aren’t yourself Bruce, you need help,” Dick could feel himself getting more and more frustrated, he couldn’t stop himself from shouting.

Bruce was acting like a child.

“Fuck you Dick! There’s nothing wrong with me!” Bruce screamed, anger quickly filling him.

He was so angry, angry at Harley for what she was doing, angry at Dick for how he was acting, angry that Joker’s laughter wouldn’t leave his head.

He held a hand to his head.

Joker was doing this on purpose, Bruce was sure, torturing him for fun…

“Fucking clown…”

Dick frowned, “See? Bruce that’s what I mean, you fucking drift off and talk to yourself. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were becoming schizophrenic.”

“Maybe I need someone to talk to who will fucking  _ understand _ ,” Bruce frowned, squaring up to Dick, waiting for the younger man to back down.

Dick’s frown deepened, “So you want to talk to someone who understands what it’s like to be a vigilante who fell in love with his fucking  _ dead _ arch nemesis?”

Bruce bit on his lip, “Get out.”

“Bruce,” Dick half pled, instantly regretting what he’d said.

“Now, Dick! Get the fuck out of my house! I never want to see you here again!” Bruce screeched, pushing the younger man backwards forcefully, towards the half-opened door.

Dick huffed gently, turning on his heels and walking from the room.

…

Bruce stared up at the Batcomputer, Dick hadn’t said where Harley was.

He was searching for the highest concentration of ‘Joker’ crime.

‘Try the northeast corner…’

“Northeast…” He zoomed in on the stretch of old houses. There were no crime markers there.

‘…Exactly.’

‘…She’s not a genius, but she’s not a  _ complete _ idiot. She’d know that Batman would look for her where there was most crime.’

“Good point…” Bruce mumbled, “I’ll check it out.”

“What was that Master Bruce?” Alfred asked from the stairs, Bruce hadn’t even realised he was there.

‘Getting a bit slow?’

Bruce smiled at the voice in his head, he wasn’t getting slow, he was distracted.

‘Excuses, excuses!’

“I was just… making a mental note, something I have to do later. Doesn’t matter,” Bruce spoke in half-sentences.

Alfred frowned, he was getting concerned, “Sir, I, um… I talked to Dick.”

Bruce’s frame visibly tensed, “Yeah?”

“Master Bruce, what happened?”

‘Why’s he asking that? What a dumb-arse!’

Bruce swallowed hard, “You talked to Dick, you know what happened.”

Alfred sighed, his head dropping slightly. “Sir… Did you really ban him from the house?”

“Yes,” he answered bluntly.

“May I ask why?”

“No, Alfred!” Bruce said loudly, “You may not, I have my fucking reasons. Now leave me to my work.”

Alfred shuffled slightly, “Sir… I… Dr Mahogany’s upstairs.”

“I don’t want to see him.”

Alfred stood on the spot for a second, watching Bruce’s head turn back to the computer, “Ok, sir.”

Alfred walked back up the stairs, turning his head when he heard Bruce let out a tiny chuckle, and whisper out “Yeah, I know.”

He re-entered the entrance hall, his eyes quickly moving to Dr Mahogany, the tall young man smiling at the older. “Sir, Master Bruce is refusing to see you.”

Dr Mahogany sighed, “Ok. Is he still… displaying signs?”

Alfred nodded, “Yes, worse than ever, he’s thrown Dick out of the house now too.”

Dr Mahogany began to walk towards the bat-cave’s entrance, stopping by the old clock, observing for a second, looking for a way to open it. “Let me in would you?” he said politely when he realised he couldn’t find a button or switch.

Alfred smiled, approaching the clock and pushing the hidden button, “If he asks, I protested, profusely.”

Mahogany descended the stairs and frowned, looking about the cave. “Uh, Alfred!” Mahogany shouted through the cave, back up the stairs, “He’s not here!”

…

Batman sat on the head of the statue at the top of the tall building, caressing the ear of one of the gargoyles, humming gently to himself, singing snippets of a song he barely knew.

He turned his head, looking out to the north east of Gotham, slowly whistling the last line of the sad song.

“She’ll be there…” he said to himself, nodding gently.

He gave the gargoyle another pat, whispering a gentle ‘love you’ as he did.

That place was becoming his favourite place in Gotham. Not for it’s viewpoint, but for the fact that Joker’ voice was strongest there, the memory was so strong, he could almost see him.

He could spend all night up there.

“I should go and find her…” he mumbled, still caressing the stone.

‘But you don’t want to leave coz’ I’ll fade?’

Batman nodded, “I don’t want you to leave me again.”

‘Aw, aren’t you a darling!’

Batman sighed, “…I’m sorry…” he said smally, something he seemed to be saying more and more nowadays.

He leapt from the head and soared towards Harley’s supposed location, tilting his head back to the large tower.

He let out a tiny sigh, wondering if there were any other places where he’d feel Joker’s presence as much as he did there.

Maybe Joker’s hideout?

…He’d go there after finding Harley, too see if it worked.

He made his way to a street in the north east, standing in the middle of the road, staring down it blankly.

He didn’t know if Harley was there, he just had a feeling she was, something told him so.

He swallowed hard. Maybe he should shout for her?

“Harley!” he yelled loudly, his voice booming and echoing through between the empty houses.

He waited for a few minutes.

Maybe she wasn’t here.

‘She is… just wait.’

He stood, standing for a short while, ears pricked.

“B-Man!” he heard a familiar shrill, “I though I heard something out here! ‘Come to apologise to me at last, huh?”

He turned and saw Harley, she wasn’t wearing her hood, and her hair was died black, not dressed in her usual black and red, instead wearing black and a deep plumb purple… the outfit seemed to have been made from panels cut from Joker’s own suit.

He sight made a lump of hatred rise in Bruce’s throat. He swallowed hard, and tried to resist the urge to punch her.

“Well, go on then!” she screeched, Bruce could see tear-tracks down her week old white makeup.

She shouldn’t have shed tears for him… she had no right.

Bruce could feel hate-filled tears welling in his eyes, “Harleen.”

Harley narrowed her eyes, “Apologise!”

“For what? I did nothing.” Batman said quietly, repressing the storm of anger filling his head.

“What? Don’t make me laugh, Hah hah! You know what you did!”

Batman kept himself still, “Tell me what you think I did.”

‘Let your emotions out Batsy, it’s good for you.’

Batman let out a low growl, watching as Harley took a few steps closer, “You killed my puddin’” she screamed, pointing a finger accusingly.

Batman let out an un-human roar “I did not kill him! I would never kill him! He killed himself!”

Harley jumped back at the noise, holding her hand behind her back, she probably had a weapon there. “Listen B-Man, just say your sorry and I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Batman laughed loudly, a smile appearing on his face, making Harley gasp and frown, “Oh, Harley… You think you can even touch me?”

She pulled a gun from behind her and shot in Batman’s direction, Batman dodged gracefully, and threw a batarang, hitting the end of the gun, rendering it useless.

She threw it to the floor, and stood still, shoulders hunched in shocked anger.

Batman continued laughing, his head tipping back as the odd noise rang in the street, “Y-You think he cared about you!? He didn’t care shit for you, Harley! You could’a died and he wouldn’t have noticed!”

Harley frowned, growling slightly, “My puddin’ did care for me, he did! You’ll see!”

“No!” Batman’s voice called, “I won’t! He’s dead! Harley! He did not care about you! He told me himself!”

“He would never say such a thing! He loved me!”

Batman felt the anger in him begin to swell again.

‘Let it out Bats!’

“He loved me!” Batman heard himself shout, unaware that the words had left his mouth.

“W-What?” Harley said with a slight and shocked giggle after a few seconds of silence, “He hated you, he wanted you dead!”

“He loved me, he told me himself!” Batman continued to scream. The words simply wouldn’t stop, and Bruce made no attempt to make them do so, “I know more about him than you ever did and I was closer to him than you ever were!”

Harley laughed mockingly, “Me and Mr J were together for years! H-He did love me I know he did!”

Batman chucked again, “Harley. I’m going to tell you this once. You stop this, stop the Joker gang, or I will  _ end _ the miserable thing you call ‘your life’.”

Harley laughed, “No Batman! Not until you apologise!”

“Harley!”

“Boys!” Harley called, her voice high and sweet.

A group of 10 men appeared from the dark alleyways surrounding them, Bruce hadn’t noticed them, he’d been to focused on Harley, how had he not seen it coming?

He turned to face the attackers, growling loudly and throwing them a stern glance.

They all knew what had happened to he boy the previous month, the one who hadn’t even left hospital yet.

“Fucking try it and see what happens,” Batman growled gently, puffing his chest to make himself seem more intimidating, “I  _ dare _ you.”

The group of men, clad in Joker make up, mock-Joker clothes, stood fast, scared.

One of them, an imbecile, ran forward. Batman stood his ground until the white-faced kid was only a few feet away. Bruce span on the spot and kicked out, his foot thwacking the man in the face, making his nose explode with blood, knocking him backwards and over, flat onto his face.

Batman gave the rest of the group a soft smile. They turned and ran. Leaving Harley in their dust.

“Oi!” she screeched, “Get back here!” she looked between the running men, and back to Batman, then she too turned and began to run, leaving Batman laughing in the middle of the deserted road.

He doubted he would hear from them for the nest few weeks.

…

He quickly found his way to the spot where he and Joker had had their picnic. One of the best nights of Bruce’s life.

He walked across the grass of the all-too-ordinary patch of grass. There should be something there, really, something that told people what had happened there.

People should know; this is where Batman was happy.

He jumped down the manhole, and smiled, seeing the place just as it had been left, the suits on the rack, the games the toys.

And the smell. God, it smelled like him.

He pulled one of the suits from the rack, lifting the material to his face and inhaling the lovely scent.

He took a seat, in the large bean-bag chair that sat in the corner… it still smelled of him, it was so strong, Batman could almost feel him there… curled up beside him on the chair, with his jacket pulled over him like a duvet…

Sleeping, next to him, consumed by the bliss of their presence together.

Bruce let the warmth of the imagined scene flood him, resting his arm along the chair, wrapping his arm around the sweet smelling suit.

Wishing it were real.

Wishing they could fall asleep together again.


	8. Chapter 8

During the eighth month, Bruce visited Joker’s hideout a lot, unable to tear himself from that chair.

He would swear that Joker was there, almost physically, like a ghost. If Bruce closed his eyes he could sense him, moving around the room, the man’s voice echoing hot and loud in his head.

It was worth the headache it caused him.

…

“Master Bruce!” Alfred said loudly as the Batmobile slipped into park. “Where have you been? Did you forget your appointment?”

Bruce stepped from the car, glancing over at Alfred with an almost withered look, “A-Appointment..?”

“Yes!” Alfred moaned dispiritedly, how had Bruce forgotten again? The third time this month! “With Dr Mahogany?”

Bruce held his hand to his forehead, “Crap… I’m sorry, I got… distracted.”

“I tell you sir; you cannot avoid these appointments forever.  I insist you go upstairs and talk to him now.” He pointed up the stairs, as if he were directing a naughty toddler to its room.

Bruce huffed, ignoring, once again, the Joker’s laughing in his head.

He had been so happy when it had returned, but still, when it was gloating-laughter, it annoyed him.

Joker had said he had forgotten something, but refused to say what it was.

So much like him…

He walked into the living-room on the first floor of his cold mansion, smiling a warm, fake, smile.

“Bruce!” Mahogany said brightly, pulling the older man into a tight hug, patting him gently on the back.

Bruce felt an odd rush of anger flood him as the man touched him, and he let out a short sigh, standing rigid, “Moggy… nice to see you.”

The doctor chuckled, “Sure, please take a seat.”

Bruce frowned; had he just been told to take a seat… in his own house? He glared a smile down at the doctor, and sat on his old chair.

“So… Bruce. May I ask why you have missed our past appointments?” The doctor pulled out a blue notebook, smiling and waiting for Bruce’s response.

Bruce swallowed hard, “I was busy.”

Mahogany shrugged gently, “Doing what? I’ve not see either Batman or Bruce Wayne in the news…”

“I was…” Bruce’s eyes darted to his hands as he clenched them into fists, “on my own. I just needed some time.”

Mahogany nodded, writing something in the A5 book, “Bruce, I’ve been talking to your… ‘family’.”

Bruce grunted gently; they weren’t his family, a family would understand, a family wouldn’t force him to talk to a doctor, they’d just let him live his life, leave him alone.

“They say you’ve been talking you yourself, acting… odd.”

Bruce shook his head, anger flooding him again. He should do something to prove that this wasn’t true.

If Joker were there he’d… preform some random act of violence to make Mahogany take him seriously.

He looked at the coffee table, staring blankly at the two cups of tea that sat there.

He could… smash a cup or something.

That’d teach the little shit to question his mental health.

"Bruce! What the hell" Dr Mahogany shouted, fear in his eyes. Bruce looked down, seeing the shattered handle of the china cup clenched in his hand, coffee spilled on the floor and blood beginning to pool on his palm.

"I..." he started, staring at the mess he had apparently made.

Alfred appeared, having head something smash, and began to clean the mess.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I…” Bruce continued staring down in disbelief as Alfred took the piece of china from him, saying he’d go and get a first aid kit.

“…You sure looked as if you meant to do it,” Doctor Mahogany said gently, his face still twisted into a harsh frown. The man scribbled down a paragraph onto the notebook, the action caused another wave of anger through Bruce’s skull. “I’m going to suggest,” Mahogany said when he’d finished writing, “That you come down to Arkham, the sooner the better, and let me conduct a psychological report.”

“What?” Bruce frowned deeply, “No, I’m not going there, I’m not one of them, I’m not crazy.”

“I’m not saying you are,” Moggy said, raising his arms defensively, “But, I want to help you, Bruce. You have so much promise, and there are so many people who care about you. I want to help.”

Bruce got to his feet, staring down at the doctor, “I said no, Mahogany! You cannot make me go!”

“Actually Bruce, if I fear that you’re putting your own health at risk, then I can make you.”

Bruce could feel himself getting angrier with every word the blonde man said, “You think I’m going to hurt myself?”

Mahogany pointed to Bruce’s hand; blood dripping slowly from the cut there, “You already have, Bruce. I cannot let you put yourself in danger like this.”

Bruce felt the anger grow to a tipping point “Get out of my house, Dr Mahogany.”

“Bruce, no. I cannot leave you like this.”

Alfred, unbeknownst to Bruce, had reappeared in the room, holding the first aid kit. “Sir,” he said gently to the younger man, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to…”

Mahogany nodded gently, and rose to his feet, “Ok. May I talk to you privately, Alfred.”

Bruce watched as Mahogany left, Alfred following, giving Bruce the first aid kit as he passed, and leaving the man to clean himself up.

“Alfred,” the doctor said gently as they walked towards the front door, “Bruce needs help.”

Alfred nodded, “I know, sir. I’ll,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “I’ll bring him to you, if you can arrange a time.”

The doctor nodded, “Are you sure, you may need to over power him, bring him by force, would you be able to do that?”

Alfred nodded again, slower this time, thoughtfully, “Yes, I should be able to get Master Dick and Master Conner to help… Despite what he says, Master Bruce has many… ‘powerful’ friends, who want to help him. If this will help him then I’m sure they’ll cooperate.”

Mahogany nodded, “I’ll call you when I’ve arranged something.”

…

The phone began to ring only half an hour later, Alfred ran to it, hoping Doctor Mahogany had managed to sort something out.

He frowned when he heard Clark Kent’s voice call down the phone, not the doctor’s.

“Alfred, it’s Clark, can I talk to Bruce please?”

“Master Bruce isn’t available at this time, sir. Can I take a message?”

A short sigh came down the phone, “No, it’s fine. Just, this is the 6th time I’ve called, and each time he’s shrugged me off and said he’s busy.”

“Yes he’s…” Alfred stopped for a second; was it really his place to say? “He’s not been entirely himself.”

“Kon said he’s acting really weird. He said Tim hasn’t seen him in weeks, and that he’s shut himself off.”

“He’s… He’s not well,” Alfred could feel emotion starting to swell in him as he talked; until this point he’d hoped that Bruce would be able to get over it, but now that didn’t seem to be the case.

He heard Clark sigh again. “I could come over? If you feel it would help. I know he doesn’t really like me, but, I’m worried.”

Alfred smiled to himself; it was important the Bruce know how many people cared about him getting better, and, if anything, it would give Alfred the relief of knowing that there were other people who could help him deal with the problem.

“That would be a great help, sir… When should we be expecting you?”

Clark hummed in thinking, “I’m free… from Thursday? Would that be ok?”

Alfred nodded down the phone, “Yes, your presence would be a great help.”

…

That Thursday, Alfred found himself glancing out the window, down the driveway, anxious for Clark’s arrival.

Doctor Mahogany had called that morning, saying that he had arranged a mental-health interview for Friday afternoon.

Alfred hadn’t been able to contact Dick; it turned out that he gone for a few days to visit one of Wally’s relatives, though he didn’t know the reason why.

So now, Clark was his only hope of ‘coercing’ Bruce to go to this meeting.

So, when he saw Clark’s familiar form appear at the bottom of the drive, his heart jumped with relief.

“Master Bruce!” Alfred shouted up the stairs as Clark approached, “You have a visitor!”

There was no reply, Bruce mas most likely still moping in his room, Alfred waited for Clark to knock on the door, and opened it to greet him.

He was slightly shocked when Clark pulled him into a hug, “Alfred! It’s been ages. It’s good to see you.”

Alfred nodded, “You too sir. Master Bruce should be upstairs. I’ll go and get him for you.”

Clark waved his hand dismissively, “No, no, I’ll get him, it’ll be a nice surprise for him.”

Alfred attempted to stop him, knowing that Bruce had recently developed a strong dislike of wearing trousers in the house, but Clark sped off before he could get a word out.

“Alfred!” a shout spilled down the stairs half a minute or so later, “He’s not up here!”

“What?” Alfred said in disbelief, it had been less than half an hour since he had last seen his employer, and the man had been in no state to go out.

“He’s not here,” Clark repeated from the top of the stairs, he glanced down towards the Batcave, concentrating intensely, “And the Batmobile’s gone too.”

“Oh no…” Alfred said, lifting his hand to his forehead as Clark descended the stairs and took a place by his side.

Clark lifted an eyebrow in slight confusion, “I take it he’s not supposed to go out…?”

Alfred sighed, “He’s got an appointment tomorrow… at Arkham-“

“At Arkham? I didn’t know things were that bad.”

Alfred nodded, “He keeps doing this, I have no idea where he goes.”

Clark smiled, “I have x-ray vision, I can fly and I have super-speed. I’ll find him in no time.”

He clapped his hand to Alfred’s back, and turned to leave the house.

Clark searched for all of 5 minutes before locating Bruce; alone in an underground room.

He dropped through the round hole, his eyes still fixed on Bruce, seeing him half-asleep, one of Joker’s jackets draped over him like a blanket.

The smell of must and old sweat hit him immediately, “Bruce,” he said gently, walking to Bruce’s side.

Bruce inhaled with a snort, opening his eyes, then jolting violently, seeing Clark there when he hadn’t been only 5 minutes ago.

Bruce didn’t even know Clark was in Gotham.

“C-Clark?” he asked, clearing his throat, and straightening himself up, “What are-“

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” Clark interrupted, looking around the room “What is this place?”

Bruce frowned suddenly; why was Clark here? Why was he here? He had no right, or… permission.

“Clark, will you get out, please?”

Clark shook his head and chuckled, “Nah, Bruce, I’m supposed to take you home.”

Bruce’s frown deepened, he clutched onto the Joker’s jacket, holding it to his chest, “I…” he shook his head, “No.”

“Bruce…” Clark said, extending his hand to take Bruce’s, noticing the weird twitch Bruce seemed to have developed, “Come on, I’m taking you home.”

He shook his head again, eyes at Clark’s feet, “I’m staying here,” he growled, pulling the jacket closed to himself.

Clark took Bruce’s wrist forcefully, what was wrong with him? “Bruce,” he said calmly, “Come with me.”

“No!” Bruce screamed, pulling his arm away, leaving Clark confused, “I want to stay here, you can’t make me leave!”

“Bruce don’t play this game with me,” Clark said, his confusion giving in,  _ knowing _ now that something was wrong with him, “You  _ know _ I  _ can _ make you.”

Bruce let out a low growl, he held his hand to his head, pulling his hair gently, “Fuck!” he yelled, “Stop laughing! It’s not fair, stop it, stop it!”

“Bruce, no one’s laughing,” Clark extended his hand again, “Come with me, I can help.”

“No you can’t! I’m not an idiot don’t lie to me!” he screeched, he tried to escape Superman’s grasp, hitting him, kicking him, but the man’s arm enveloped him, and soon he found himself hurtling through the sky, back towards his home.

…

He sat in the bolted-down chair at Arkham Asylum, across the table from Doctor Mahogany. He’d had no sleep last night. The Joker’s voice called in his head…

_ Well it wasn’t my fault you got no sleep. _

Bruce frowned, he would have slept fine if the laughter would have stopped.

He wasn’t even sure why it was there.

_ I’m here because you want me here. _

It was true… he did.

Doctor Mahogany was looking at him intently, watching his mannerisms.

Bruce sighed, looking down at his hands, noticing how chipped his nails were. Joker had been through so many of these interview things. Perhaps in this very room.

Joker would know exactly what to do to get him out of here.

Just… act calm, maybe hit on the guy a little to put him off guard, that’s what Joker would do.

Bruce looked up at the doctor again, and saw that now he was smiling widely, his face showing a little blush, looking down at his nails, “Yes, well,” the doctor said, giving a tiny cough, and looking through his notes, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Let’s start with the standard Rorschach test…” he took several cardboard pieces from the bag under his desk, “It shouldn’t take long.”

He knew Joker had done these, he’d seen so many recordings of it, he’d seen the man make the interviewer think he was sane, think he was insane, or, hell, even made the interviewer himself insane!

“Ok…?” the doctor said, scribbling something down on his notepad, “This one?”

He held up the cardboard, and Bruce looked intently at it, he smiled, “It looks like a bat.”

Mahogany chuckled, “Yeah, I assumed you’d say that.”

He put the cardboard slides back in the bag. Bruce frowned; he had only shown him one. Weren’t there normally at least 8?

The doctor began to talk before Bruce could say anything about it, “Clark told me that you complained about hearing laughter… could you explain that to me?”

“I don’t know…” Bruce mumbled, “I just… felt dizzy and… I don’t know.”

The doctor hummed thoughtfully, “Well… I think I’d like to book you in for a scan. As we both know um… dizziness and hearing things could be a sign of a tumour.”

Bruce shook his head, “No… I…” 

“Bruce,” the doctor said firmly, “I suggest that you go home, get some rest, and come back in three days for a scan. After that, I’ll start you on whatever treatment is necessary. Ok?”

Bruce paused for a second… he should do that. It sounded like a good idea…

“Ok,” he said slowly. He waited for the doctor to get to his feet and open the door.

Clark was standing on the opposite side of the door, smiling politely and waiting for Bruce to be led out.

The man had insisted that he stay outside the room, rather than sit with Alfred in the waiting room; he knew how dangerous Batman could be, he didn’t want to risk anyone getting injured.

“Hey, Bruce…” Clark cooed condescendingly, much to Bruce’s annoyance.

“Shut up Clark. Take me home…” Bruce growled as the doctor led them both down the hall, towards where Alfred was seated.

Alfred stood at seeing his charge, handing the man his coat.

“You think he’s ok?” Clark asked gently, even though he had heard what the doctor had said in the room with Bruce.

“We’re going to give him a scan first, to make sure nothing’s medically wrong.”

Clark nodded along as the doctor talked, his mind more focused on how Bruce had been acting the past couple of days; the doctor thought it may be medical? But what kind of medical condition could cause such… erratic behaviour.

He and Bruce had sat together the previous night, watching tv, and a documentary had come on about the batman and his strange disappearance, and during a run of old footage Bruce had begun to laugh, saying ‘Yeah, I remember that’.

It seemed so unlike him.

“Doctor, if that’s all?” Bruce asked, seemingly impatient as he stood by the door, waiting for the two to finish talking so they could leave.

He didn’t like being about as if he wasn’t there.

As if he wasn’t human.

He brought a hand to his head as the laughter suddenly grew louder, and he couldn’t help joining it in a soft chuckle.

Was this how Joker had felt? How the other inmates must feel?

Did  _ he _ make them feel this?

…

That night Bruce balled himself on the sofa, covering himself in a purple blanket.

It was made of the same material as Joker’s suit.

He inhaled deeply… it didn’t smell of him.

“Hey,” Clark’s voice came to him, interrupting his thoughts, “Mind if I join you?”

Bruce looked up at him; standing in the doorframe, a large bag of crisps in his hand staring down at him and smiling sweetly.

“Sure,” Bruce grunted, letting the other man sit by him, almost disgusted by the happy energy he exuded.

Clark let out a gentle moan as he made himself comfortable, “Bruce.”

“Yeah?”

“You know, I’m going to stay here, as much as I can. I’ll help you get through whatever’s happening.”

Bruce shook his head, “You should just leave. Dick has, Tim has.”

“The only reason they left is because you threatened them. I will not respond to your threats. I’m not leaving.”

Bruce huffed, pulling the blanket closer to him, moving his eyes to the tv, wanting to wrap himself in the fabric of Joker’s suit and fall to his image and fall asleep.

He felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy, he tried to put off sleep for as long as he could, his eyes darting between Clark and the tv, watching the man’s smile waver as he watched his programme.

When he couldn’t hold off the weight of sleep any longer, he made himself get up, and stumble to his room.

He flopped onto his bed, and wrapped his blanket around him, nuzzling into the material, letting his head fill with Joker’s voice, laughter and coos, singing him to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

During the ninth month, things got worse. Bruce woke with a headache every morning, the laughter… it was killing him, deafening him, dulling his mind.

…

“Bruce?” Clark asked, smiling gently.

His eyes snapped to Clark’s face, “Y-Yeah?”

“I asked if you wanted toast.”

Bruce shook his head, looking around the wood paned kitchen, “No, I’m not feeling too well.”

“Your head, again?”

Bruce nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel Clark staring at him, “Don’t x-vision my head…”

Clark smiled slightly, “I just wanted to check.”

“I’m sure I don’t have a tumour.”

Clark nodded, leaning against the wooden kitchen counter, smirking at his friend, “I know you don’t.”

Bruce sat on his usual stool at the breakfast bar, looking at Clark with a slight glare, partially still confused to why he was still here, surely there were more important things the superman could be doing. “A cup of tea might be nice…”

Clark bowed a little and nodded, imitating Alfred’s accent, “ _ Of course, sir. _ Go sit in the living room, I’ll bring it through.”

Bruce got to his feet, his head throbbing, he would take an aspirin or something, but he had taken 4 overnight in order to sleep.

He looked up at the tv from his usual seat, and frowned, hearing Clark’s voice from the other room, “Did you say something…?”

Bruce looked towards the door, “No… Where’s my tea?”

Clark appeared in the doorframe, holding a large cup of tea, “Here.”

Bruce looked down at the cup in his own hands, feeling a pang of pain in his head. “It’s only half full…”

Clark frowned, looking over from his seat on the opposite side of the room, “What? You… you just drunk some.”

Bruce’s frown deepened, and Clark got to his feet, walking to Bruce’s side, and held a hand to his forehead, “Are you sure you’re ok?”

Bruce looked down at the tea, “I… I don’t remember.”

“Perhaps we should take you to the doctor?” Clark asked, crouching slightly so he was eye to eye with the man, “Your pupils are dilated…”

Bruce shook his head, “No, I’m fine, it’s just a migraine, it’ll get better.”

“You’ve had it for a week.”

Bruce stared, frowning, into Clark’s eyes, refusing to respond, he took a sip from his tea, watching Clark’s head droop a little. The man let out a sigh and got back to his feet. “If it stays for another week then I’m taking you if you like it or not. I am Superman, if you remember, I can force you quite easily.”

Bruce sighed gently, “You can try…” He placed his cup on the nearby coffee table and raised himself from his chair, “I’m going to have a shower,” he said gently, aware that Clark’s eyes had snapped to him when he had moved.

Clark nodded wordlessly, watching the man leave the room. He walked down the hall and into the bathroom, focusing on his steps, looking up at the mirror, and being repulsed by the man that stared back at him.

He looked so pale, his eyes bloodshot and puffy, his lips chapped and bloody in places.

The lack of sleep, and the constant voice in his head… It was taking a toll on him.

He sighed and climbed in the shower, letting the water fall on him, the rushing water itself sounding like laughter. He tried to clear his mind, but, he didn’t want it gone, just lessened.

“Bruce?” Clark called from the livingroom, “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said back, not bothering to raise his voice, knowing Clark could hear him anyway.

“Ok, I thought I heard laughter.”

Bruce frowned, laughter? He frowned, looking down at his soap covered hands. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a soft sting of pain. “W-What...?” he removed his hand, finding blood and skin under his nails. He swallowed hard and rinsed the shampoo from his hair, quickly washing his hands, watching the small amount of blood run down the plughole.

Where had that come from? He ran his hand through his hair again, feeling the cut that run along his brow. He had no idea how he’d got that. He hadn’t noticed it before.

He huffed, disregarding it, and finished washing himself. As he stepped out of the glass plated square, turning off the water, he heard a word echo through his head, a single word.

_ Fun. _

He growled, “Go away…”

_ Fun, such fun… _

“What fun, what are you…?” He cleared his throat, “I’m talking to myself…”

_ Are you? I hadn’t noticed, Love. _

He growled a little louder, “What do you want?”

He heard a loud laugh ripple through his skull, making his skin shudder with lust. “….How…”

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to ignore the feeling in his chest. He was fine, he was just over-tired. Some sleep would do him good… He knew Alfred had sleeping pills kept in the medical kit, maybe he should take one.

He dressed himself and walked down the hall, ignoring Clark’s eyes on him as he took the pills from the medical kit in the kitchen.

“I’m going to try to get some more sleep,” he mumbled, walking towards his bedroom.

He smiled gently as he heard Clark’s reply of ‘ok’, he opened his wardrobe, and pulled out a shoebox that he’d placed in the bottom of it. He sat on the bed and opened the box, pulling out the purple jacket that lay inside it.

He’d taken this when Clark had had to go, one afternoon the previous week, back to Metropolis, he wasn’t sure why, but it had given him the opportunity to go back to Joker’s hideout, and retrieve this.

He swallowed the pill, and sat for a few moments with the material held to his face, inhaling Joker’s stale scent.

He missed him so much. The real him, not the voice in his head. The physical being that used to be Joker.

The perfect soft white of his skin, the deep red of his lips… That smile, that laugh, his touch.

The voice in his head, the echo of Joker, it sickened him. But he didn’t want it to leave, he just wished it were real.

He could feel sleep beginning to take him, his eyelids growing heavy, he placed the jacket back in the box, and put it back in the cupboard, then lay down on the bed, and let himself fall to the bliss of sleep.

.

Clark’s words sliced through the calm of Bruce’s mind, forcing his eyes open, “Bruce,” the Kryptonian said gently, sounding almost angry, “Dick’s here.” 

Bruce sat up in the bed, “…Send him away.”

“He’s refusing to leave. Wally’s with him, they say they have news.”

Bruce nodded, pulling the cover away from himself and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Clark frowned at him, “Why are you wearing that?” he asked. Bruce looked down at himself, realising after a second that he was wearing Joker’s jacket. He let out a juddered ‘Uhh’ as he frowned down at himself.

“Why are you wearing that?” Clark asked again, his frown deepening.

“I…I don’t remember putting it on,” Bruce said quietly, taking the jacket off, finding that he was wearing nothing other than boxers, he could swear he was wearing full pyjamas when he went to bed.

He looked and saw that they were cast on the floor, next to the open shoebox that should have held the jacket.

“I’m taking that from you,” Clark said sharply, taking the jacket from the bed.

“What? No, you can’t,” Bruce almost gasped, getting to his feet, stretching out his arm to grab the item of clothing. Clark pulled it away, frowning deeply.

“It’s not good for you to have these things here, even worse for you to be  _ wearing _ them.”

“Clark give it back!”

“No, Bruce,” Clark snapped, he held the jacket close to his chest. “I’m going to get  _ rid _ of it. Now… Dick and Wally are in the livingroom, go through.”

Bruce frowned, he doubted Clark would actually get rid of it, but even the threat seemed harsh. He pulled on his trousers and a black shirt, and he trudged through to the livingroom.

He forced a smile onto his face as he walked into the room, seeing the two young men standing side by side.  He could tell from their body language, the way Wally was standing, Dick’s posture, that they wanted to be holding hands, but weren’t for whatever reason.

“You have news?” Bruce asked, trying to sound cheery, looking between the two of them.

Wally nodded, and gave Dick a slight tap on the arm, “Go on…” he said gently, “He’s  _ your _ father.”

Bruce frowned slightly, but waited for the young black haired man to talk. Dick shifted slightly, and exhaled gently, “Bruce… me and Wally…” the man seemed to be holding back a smile, his eyes stuck to the floor, “We’re going to get married.”

Bruce found himself in a tight hug with the younger man, his eyes wide with shock, “T-That’s… oh my god…”

Dick let out a juddered sigh, “I-I’m so happy you’re t-taking it well, I was so worried.”

Bruce frowned gently, he hadn’t said anything about being ok with it… Not that he wasn’t.

“I-I…” Bruce stuttered slightly as he backed out of the hug, at a complete loss for words.

“You’re sure you can come? It’d mean so much to me,” Dick said, taking Wally’s hand and squeezing it tightly, the smile so wide with euphoria that it made Bruce’s heart ache with memories.

“I-I don’t know Dick. When is it?”

“The 14thof August, I just told you… Look, you have to come, you can’t say you’re busy.”

Bruce looked over his shoulder, feeling his throat tighten, he smiled slightly as his eyes found Clark, his eyes pleading for an excuse.

He didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to see Dick. He didn’t want Dick to see him like this. He could feel something was wrong with him, he didn’t want to admit it, but there was something wrong.

Clark frowned at him, as if he knew what Bruce was thinking, “I’m sure Bruce can find time… I’ll make sure he’s there.”

August was three months away, how would Clark ‘make sure’? Did Clark think he was going to still be here in three months?

Bruce exhaled through gritted teeth, a knot tight in his stomach, “I’ll… I’ll see what I can do.”


End file.
